


Maelstrom

by QueenForADay



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And inserts, Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), So bare with, This will have a lot of movie references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-10-31 03:46:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10891026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay
Summary: The Winter Soldier has a trainee. When tensions with the Avengers cause the group to split, decisions must be made.(I'm terrible at summaries. This is essentially a reason for me to write Bucky being a rugged-out of his luck mentor you see in movies, and Peter being confused)





	1. PROLOGUE

When you were given a forged invitation to a rich man’s party, your mind immediately drew up an image of what it was going to be like: men in pressed tuxes and women in elaborate dresses with trains of fabric draped all over the floor. It would be in a ballroom, crammed with people either socialising (i.e.: ‘networking’ or ‘let’s see if I can get a deal from this conversation’) or dancing. It all turned your stomach.

So when your car pulled up outside the Ricci Estate and you caught a glimpse of some couples walking in, you nearly opened the door and vomited right there and then.

Leaning back against the leather car seat now, you take a few breaths.

“Just remember what I taught you,” the man driving the car states. He meets your eyes through the rear-view mirror. Icy cold blue ones lock with yours, and where so many people see ice and darkness there, you see nothing but warmth and familiarity.

You nod stiffly. “I will _nastavnik_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Inside the mansion is just as gaudy as the outside. Cream walls rose up and merged into a detailed Gothic-style roof. Once you walk through the large double doors, both sides manned with immaculately dressed butlers, there’s a large foyer and a staircase

You merge easily into the crowd.

_Find Ricci. Get him alone._

You scan the room, plucking a flute of champagne from a passing waitress’ platter. Looking from person to person, you don’t see him.

 _Nastavnik will wait,_ you assure yourself, _don’t rush this_.

Your career is built on waiting. Years of your younger life were spent in the woods with your mentor, seasons passing you by as you lived and stalked in those woods and provided for yourselves. He thought you to hunt. Hunting means waiting. _Prey will eventually come along_.

“ _Signorina_ ,” you hear from behind you. You turn on your heel and draw in a measured breath when you lock eyes with Ricci. He gives you a withering smile that could pass off as ‘charming’ if not from him. He takes your hand in his and brings your knuckles to his lips. “I know everyone in this mansion, but I don’t think I know you.”

When he lets your hand go, his eyes are still on yours. _He’s watching you just as closely as you’re watching him._

You straighten. “Anna Alexandrovna Sokolova,” you say effortlessly, masking your words with an accent. “You know my uncle, Signore Ricci.”

Something registers in his eyes. A slight flicker of recognition. If it’s of your persona or who you really are, you have no idea.

“Alexei Nikolayevich,” Ricci nods with smile, “a close friend of mine. He never mentioned having a niece, let alone someone as beautiful as you.”

“I imagine you both spoke a lot of business-talk,” you reply, head tilting slightly, “one must always be careful to keep business-talk and personal-talk separate.”

A blush rises on Ricci’s cheeks, settling just above his cheekbones. He quickly looks over to the centre of the hall, taking a long sip of champagne. You watch the liquid carefully. Since walking into the mansion, _how_ exactly you would rid the world of Dimitri Ricci eluded you. In the back of your mind, though, your mentor’s words linger: be careful, be quiet, and don’t get caught.

He leaves a sip of champagne in the glass before snapping his fingers to a nearby waiter. He puts the flute on the tray and turns back to you. “Gospozha Anna Alexandrovna,” he gestures to the centre of the ballroom, “would you care for a dance?”

You look out on to the hall. It’s large, but it’s packed with enough people that, in normal circumstances, you wouldn’t be noticed. But Ricci wants to dance with you. That’s going to garner some looks. Gossip would quickly follow.

You show to consider it for a moment. “If you brush up on your Russian, _Signore_ Ricci, I might take that dance with you. Until then, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Perfectly understandable Anna,” he drops titles and patronymics, it almost makes you laugh. He turns on his heel and stalks off towards a gathering of people near the centre of the ballroom.

They’re going to talk about you. All of them will, at some point. Anyone Ricci talks to will get attention. Speaking to him was stupid, but there’s some pride in your head knowing that you did – you held a conversation (a convincing) one

Then again, he could have one of his staff in this mansion have you researched. He could get an answer within hours.

You bristle.

You need to work quickly.

 

* * *

 

 

Once you know where Ricci is, your eyes never leave him for the night. Most of the people here don’t bother you. Only a few curious ones have approached you, asking about your conversation with Ricci. You bite your cheek every time someone does – they’re curious, they’re jealous. Ricci has money. Ricci is unmarried. And you’re not an idiot. You know how many prominent families are here with their daughters, cousins and any younger female family member they could grab. You see him wander towards an aged woman with greying hair. Beside her is a meek girl, barely your age from your guess, looking between the two of them. The smiles that the woman sends him are too big, too forced. You almost roll your eyes at it.

All the while the poor girl stands there awaiting her fate.

You down the last of your champagne and stalk through the ballroom. _Fuck it_.

When you get to Ricci, you place your hand on his shoulder. When he turns towards you, you drop it slightly to the middle of his back. “I’d like to take that dance offer now, Signore Ricci.”

A smile slowly spreads across his face as he abandons the woman he was talking to and lets you lead him through the crowd. When you were far enough into the crowd, you were suddenly pulled against Ricci as the music from a nearby band began to play.

“So Miss Anna,” Ricci says lightly, a smile still on his lips, “what part of Russia do you come from?”

“Moscow,” you answer simply. At a quizzing look from Ricci, you elaborate. “Uncle Alexei lives in St. Petersburg with his family. His brother, my father, lives with his own in Moscow.”

Ricci hums at this while you both waltz with the other couples. Prying a quick glance to the side of the room, you can already see the stares. There are a few nudges of arms, followed by the nods of heads. You’ll have to lie low after this.

“Alexei was a good man,” Ricci says, looking away from you for just a moment. When he looks back to you, something has changed. “Shame he had to die away from his family.”

It throws you for a moment. You school your body not to react. Even the slightest change would give you away. _He’s watching you just as closely as you’re watching him_.

 _What a clever, clever man_.

“His wife is still reeling from it,” you reply easily, “we all are.”

You knew all about Alexi Sokolov being found dead in his Berlin hotel room. You were the one who killed him.

_Be careful with this one._

Ricci hums again, more thoughtful this time. “It’s funny, Miss Anna. I know you have admonished me for mixing business and personal life, but I can’t help but retain the fact that Alexei never mentioned you. You have quite the gift for socialising with these people. It’s a useful thing to have.”

 _Or for someone else to use_ , you mentally finish for him. He easily spins you and your back with his arm firmly around your waist and his hand clasping yours.

When the music ends, the couples disperse back into the crowd surrounding the dancefloor. Ricci still hangs on to you though. “You know what, Miss Anna Sokolova? You’re an intriguing young woman.”

You tilt your head. “Resulting to compliments, Signore? One would think you are trying to achieve something?”

Ricci smiles devilishly. His hand drops to your lower back, and it takes every ounce of restraint in your head to force your body to _stay still_. “I’ll be honest with you Miss Anna: these people bore me. I call a party to attain new business partners, and all they have done is try and woo me with their heiresses.”

 _You can play along_. Tilting your head, your brow furrows slightly. “Would you not agree that is what I’m trying to do, Signore Ricci?”

“Yes, Miss Anna, I would perceive it so. But you’re interesting.”

At that he presses his hand to your back and begins to lead you from the ballroom. Whether or not it’s your mind playing tricks on you, but you swear you hear a few shocked gasps.

It’s a short walk from the ballroom back to the foyer. The stairs are wide and branch off into two directions.

“Gospozha Anna Alexandrovna Sokolova,” Ricci says, stumbling slightly through your faked name. You’ve spent your entire life learning every language your mentor could teach you .With that came a large bank of names you could delve into in case anyone asked for you to identify yourself.

Ricci, though, looks to you and laughs lightly at your expression.

“Have I offended you again with my Russian, Miss Anna?”

“You have the words, Signore, but just not the accent.”

He hums. “It’s a natural occurrence. What may be simple to you can be impossible to another. Not being born in a region, and learning that region’s language can prove very difficult.”

You force a smile.

You turn down an elaborately decorated hallway. It’s just as gaudy as the rest of the mansion. The whole house might as well be draped in liquefied gold and sprinkled with gems. Ricci had gone quiet since your conversation on the staircase.

You shift slightly, but continue walking with him.

 _Just get him away from the part. Get him away from anyone_.

The blade hidden underneath your dress, the one strapped to your thigh, has never felt heavier. You could get him in this hallway and be done with it. With everyone occupied in the ballroom, you could do your job and make a break for it.

 _Wait. Wait. Prey will come to you_.

The arm around your waist is firm. It’s securing. Eventually you stop outside a mahogany door. You can only guess its Ricci’s room.

“Miss Anna,” he gestures and bows lowly, “lead the way.”

Something inside of you shudders. It claws its way to your head and screams _he knows who you are_.

The door opens and you’re faced with three armed guards when you step inside. Ricci comes up behind you and presses his front to your back. “I’m sorry Miss Anna, or whatever your name is, but did no one tell you that coming to a party uninvited was terribly rude?”

You steel yourself. Within seconds your eyes are darting over the guards, around the room, plotting and planning. They have guns, still holstered to their sides. There are only three guards.

The room is big, with enough furniture for cover. Then there’s a bay window at the other side of the room.

Ricci waves his hands and one of the guards pulls his gun.

You drop down quickly and grab your blade. Within seconds you have it lodged into Ricci’s femoral artery. When you rip out the knife, he drops to the ground with a guttural cry. You turn your blade in your hand and throw it at one of the guards as he cocks gun, hitting him in the neck and sending him backwards.

The other two guards pull their guns and aim for you, but neither shoots. With your knife embedded in the neck of one guard, you toe off your heels slowly and sigh.

 

* * *

 

 

You threw your balled up dress at the back of your mentor’s head. “You almost had me killed!”

He doesn’t move from his seat on the couch; merely looking up at you, regarding for a few moments, before returning to cleaning his blades.

“You’re alive,” he corrects you, voice low and level.

You throw your arms up. “I knew the mansion was a bad idea! I _knew_ you were only sending me in to test me!”

“Why did you agree to do it then?”

“I like living here! I like living with you out here, but I know that if I stop doing what you taught me to do, I’ll be thrown out!”

He pauses at this. When he looks up at you again, it’s cold. “I would _never_ do that to you _dorogaya moya_.”

You stare him down for a moment before turning back towards the hallway. With night settling in, long shadows are cast into the hallway. There was a time where they terrified you – all of this did.

You look over your shoulder and see him stood up from the couch. “Everything I’ve done, and everything I will continue to do, is for you my dear. I was asked to protect you and that’s what I’ll do.”

“It’s a bit hard to do that when you send me into places like the Ricci estate.”

His gaze ices slightly, but it’s schooled back. “I wasn’t aware of Ricci’s men. I didn’t know that he knew about you, about any of this.”

You swallow. “Is it safe?”

He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Not likely. We’ll leave in the morning…if that’s okay with you.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” you reply sharply, “if it’s not safe, it’s not safe.”

You start to walk towards your room at the end of the hallway. “I’ll start packing my things.”

Your room is dark when you storm into it. You rarely turn on the lights in the house, opting to train your eyesight to the dark. It’s more honed that it used to be, and you don’t stumble over things like you used to.

You grab a duffle-bag from underneath your bed and toss it on to it. You don’t have a lot of things – most of your clothes being stuffed in closets in safe-houses dotted around the globe. What you do have though, that being a collection of jackets, light tees and worn jeans, you stuffed into your bag.

There’s a knock on your doorframe.

“I assume you killed the guards?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” you say stiffly, shoving your last pair of shoes into your bag and zipping it up with a huff of breath.

You hear a sigh. “I’ll continue to protect you. You know that. But it’s getting more difficult as you start to wander away from me.”

You send a dull look over your shoulder. “Resorting to poetry: have I upset you that much?”

He stays at your room’s doorframe, not daring to come inside. This is your space.

He folds his arms in front of his chest. “I’ve taught you all that I could have. The rest, my dear, you’re going to have to go alone for. And that terrifies me.”

“Think how I feel,” you retort.


	2. Chapter 2

_Don’t come home. Go to Safety_.

You stare at the screen of your phone for a minute. A cold, tight feeling is starting to wrap around your chest and squeeze the air from you.

 _Fuck it_. You start walking to the street corner, but as you do, you notice the amount of police cars speeding past you. The most you can do is pull your hood over your head and keep walking. Something has happened. You know that. He doesn’t really message you through text, but he would never say something like that.

When you get to the street corner, out of sight from the main street, you start jogging through the smaller streets winding through the rest of the city. The apartment block is away from the city centre, hidden away by old blocks of apartments that lay unused for years.

Eventually you start sprinting. Your lungs and the muscles in your legs slowly start to burn, but you fight through it. When you get to the building, you shove open the front door and start running up the stairs, taking two at a time.

Your shared apartment is at the top, looking over the city. _Why couldn’t you have picked something closer to the fucking ground you idiot?_

And then you start to see it on your way up the stairs. Dents in the walls. The railing of one of the landings is ripped off and hanging downwards.

 _Jesus Fucking Christ_.

You sprint up the last few flights of stairs before you see the kicked in door of your apartment. The door – or what’s left of it – hangs off its hinges. Inside, it doesn’t look much better on the inside. Inside is trashed. Furniture is thrown into other parts of the room.

You run your fingers through your hair and sigh.

 _Don’t come home. Go to Safety_.

_Don’t come home. Go to Safety._

_Don’t come home. Go to Saf-_

You take in a deep breath and scream.

 

Safety is an empty and unlisted apartment in the suburbs of Queens. You’ve known about it for a few years, ever since he started getting his memories back. Pieces of them are assembling in his mind, you can tell. You’re just waiting for the day they’ll all click into place.

It’s like the apartment you both had in Budapest: empty floor-space with little furniture, the windows already covered in newspapers. You spend most of the morning lying on the small mattress dragged out into the living space. There’s a few supplies on the table – groceries you’ve picked up earlier today.

But you just like lying here for a few moments. On the trip over to Brooklyn, news reports detailing what happened were sprawled everywhere. You remember staring at one television screen in an airport showing the carnage of the Avengers. _The world’s falling apart_.

Then the reports of him came on. An alleged bomber and terrorist. Then a killed wrongly accused, but still a killer. And now the Good Captain Stephen Rogers was on a list made by the government s of the world.

You got up from the mattress and pace around the room. Without him with you, you felt lost. You’ve gone long stretches of time without him there, such as missions in other countries where trying to communicate with him would be risky. But now, not knowing where he is, it just harder.

Eventually, being in the quiet room is a bit too much, and you grab a jacket and your boots and go down into the street. Walking nowhere in particular, you let your feet take you wherever they decide to go.

The sun is setting, hiding behind the high-rise buildings you walk passed. You like being out at night. Even when he picked you up as a child, you liked the darkness. It made hide and seek easier, even though he didn’t appreciate it.

Eventually you get to a street corner – a small local bank, by the looks of it. Already shut down for the night, with shutters pulled down over the windows. You keep walking.

When you’re on the other side of the street, you spot it: a blacked out car on the side of the street. You shove your hands into your jacket pockets and just watch. Two men eventually get out of the car. One of them runs straight across the street to the bank, dragging a few heavy black bags in his hands. The other walks calmly across.

Another bank heist.

It takes them a few minutes for everything to be sorted, but there appears to be people already inside. Flashes of small light reflect on the windows. Flashlights.

One of them looks straight at you. “Hey! Get the fuck out of here!”

You sigh. Really, you should keep walking. They seem to have everything under control-

That’s until one of them, the one that’s looked at you, starts walking towards you. In his hands, there’s what appears to be a rifle; but as he walks closer, you notice it’s not like the usual rifles at all. It’s a bit bigger, and it’s humming slightly.

You frown. Why is a gun...humming?

“I told you to go!” he raises the gun to you.

Without a knife or a gun on you, the odds were a bit in their favour. You look around though. There’s only one other thief standing outside the bank, bags of money in hand about to walk over to the van. He’s looking at you too.

You look back to the man in front of you. He’s favouring one side slightly – a damaged muscle or weakness on the other side then: a weakness. There’s a click behind you.

“This one giving you trouble?” a deeper voice says. You know that if you turned around, you’d be met with the end of a barrel from a gun.

“Deaf, apparently,” the man in front of you cocks the gun.

Suddenly the gun from the person in front of you is splattered with something, and yanked quickly out of his hand. You quickly spin around on your heel and disarm the person behind you, cocking the gun and shooting him down. When you look over your shoulder, you see more people filing out of the bank wearing masks with the Avengers’ faces on them. One by one, they’re picked off by something moving through the darkness of the street.

Eventually, it drops down into sight: a costumed man dressed in red.

“Another fucking one,” you mutter, making sure you get the mag out of the rifle and throw it to the ground. The men fighting the costumed figure shout something before energy ripples through the space. Looking back to the bank, you freeze. One of the weapons fires, but no bullets come out. Lines and whirls of purple energy flow out from the weapon, grabbing the costumed figure and throwing him around until he can eventually shoot something back – the substance used to rip the gun away from the other man.

The weapon remains in the thief’s hand though, and it’s swayed from side to side until the energy starts to sear through the building.

You drop to the ground just in time for the purple beam of light to soar over your head and destroy a nearby store. Lying flat on the ground, you raise your head to see the masked men get away. The red-costumed figure just…stands there. You quickly scramble back to your feet.

It’s a movement that catches the figure’s eye though because he turns to face you as you start to run away.

“Wait!”

You keep running until your lungs start to burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr; yourqueenforayear.tumblr.com
> 
> Come to scream/fangirl/chat with me or watch my slow decent into madness. Either or.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: yourqueenforayear.tumblr.com
> 
> This is will be a thing. I promise. 
> 
> The timeline for this is: Prologue happens before Civil War. Where Bucky & Reader go to is Bucharest and that's where the Civil War nonsense happens. The Reader (i.e: Bucky's apprentice) does have a history. You will be in the story. During the movies. Just shoved in there because it makes me happy and I wanted to share. 
> 
> IMPORTANT: Because some of this happens during the movies, I won't be writing this in traditional form...As in, this could be a collection of 'drabbles', with the events of the movies either before or in between. You get me?


End file.
